Worlds Collide
by naturally morbid
Summary: AU. A self-declared spinster at only 25, with a simple lifestyle, Mildred Callahan craves change. She doesn't realize change is coming, in a way she doesn't expect, starting New Year's Day with an unfamiliar horse in her pasture. The horse is only the beginning, as a man claiming to be from WWI shows up in her tack room and changes her life. Maj. Jamie Stewart/OC
1. Introduction

**Author's Note: **Never written a War Horse fic. Fell in love with both the book and movie, then had a spot of inspiration from watching _Lost in Austen_ (for sadly about the millionth time I might add).

Will not be totally in first person. Just in the introduction here and the journal entries with some chapters. I know that Mildred might seem like an older name, but there is a reason for it.

And has anyone else noticed that it's Stewart from the book/movie but on here is Stuart? Does anyone know for sure which is right?

Hope nothing is OOC.

**Complete Summary: **

_With a new year comes a new adventure…_

A self-declared spinster at only 25, with a simple lifestyle, Mildred Callahan craves change. She doesn't realize change is coming, but in a way she doesn't expect. The trouble starts New Year 's Day when Mildred finds an unfamiliar horse in her pasture. The arrival of the horse triggers another strange event: a fevered man claiming to be a formerly captured Major from WWI and that's his horse in her field.

_Out of the frying pan and into the fire…_

Major Jamie Stewart has survived the horrors of war and being captured by the Germans, only to find himself in a nightmare of another type after falling through a door into Mildred's tack room. He's fevered, in unfamiliar surroundings, and some strangely dressed woman is telling him this is the future: 2000. He has no idea how Topthorn arrived before him.

_Love comes from even the strangest of circumstances…_

Despite the time gap, Mildred finds herself drawn to Jamie's antiquity, to the period he represents, as Jamie finds himself attracted to Mildred's strength and independence.

_But existence in two worlds comes with a choice…_

Mildred must choose between the life she has always lived and the man she has fallen in love with where two separate worlds collide.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any characters from War Horse.

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Worlds Collide

**Introduction**

I wish I could say that this story started with something quite exciting, like an earthquake or the loud opening of a hidden portal in the nearest field. Anything more out of the ordinary than just a horse appearing in my pasture.

But of course, it's all in the details sometimes.

And this detail, just happened to be, a horse.

A horse that brought with him a master - the man who would change my life…


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the characters of War Horse, only the ones I've made up.

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Worlds Collide

Chapter One

**Mildred Callahan's Journal – Jan 1, 2000**

_It's three am, early New Year's morning and I'm pacing my small kitchen with a mug of hot coco. _

_I have no idea what woke me from an otherwise peaceful slumber. Y2K did not happen, so perhaps I wanted a good laugh. _

_My house is too quiet, my "roommates" otherwise known as my older sister and her loser husband have gone to his parents for two weeks. I'm praying for an extra week to myself at least. _

_I'm not accustomed to so much privacy. _

_Even though it's pitch black outside, I glance out the cottage window just from sheer habit. There's nothing to see, though I know my two horses and their adopted goat child are either walking the pasture or snuggled in the barn. I'm not sure who adopted whom first, though I suspect it was the goat who adopted the horses. _

_Glittering flakes of snow fall past the light at my back door; the ground is covered with it. I will be shoveling my way to the barn in the morning to feed the horses if it keeps up._

_I'm not sleepy, and aside from a few chores in the morning, have nothing planned. There's a stack of movies I rented, sitting lonesome by my fairly outdated television. My sister laughs about how I still enjoy VHS when these things called DVDs seem to be the new trend. Her loser husband keeps up with technology; does something with computers as I recall. _

_She calls me the 'older sister,' though I am sometimes more like our late mother. I've always been more mature than Cayleen. "You have an elder name," she tells me all the time, "no way to make it cute is there? Like Cayleen, I can just use Cay." I happen to like my name. Gran had the same name. _

_Cayleen spends more time on nicknames than she does on finding a sensible job or attending a university to finish her degree – whatever it was. I've earned a degree and found a sensible job – albeit a terrifically boring one. But my life is comfortable enough. _

_At least I am not out of money every other weekend or running the streets all hours of the night with a complete loser, like Dave is. _

_Minutes later, I'm curled up in the worn recliner with a fresh cup of coco and the scarf I have started to crochet. _

_As I'm pressing 'play' I'm wishing the new year held more promise for me. Right now, I'm stuck in my job as a secretary to the village's only doctor's office. My sister and her now husband refuse to move out of _my_ cottage (as my eccentric Gran left it to me – the responsible one- when she died a few years back). And there is no hope of a boyfriend. Unless I count Mr. Gurnsey who comes in on Thursdays for his gout – though he smells like cheese and calls me Rosie._

_I find myself with a hunger for a simpler time, as everything seems to grow more complicated with movies, computers, and telephones._

X

Mildred Callahan awoke the next morning, with the bright sunlight glancing off the foot of snow across her front pasture, flickering across her eyelids. Her television was still running, but just on a blue screen, her crochet still in hand. Mildred rented movies from the village's only rental store because she didn't want channels. She found better ways to occupy her time.

She realized she must have drifted off to sleep between movies, the stack of VHS half watched now. Scooting to the edge of her chair, she stretched luxuriously, aware that at only twenty-five she was far too early to be quite this stiff in the morning. _I should not fall asleep in the chair like that. _

Mildred fumbled for the remote, powered the television set off, and went in search of coffee. Stumbling into the kitchen, she tied her lengthy, copper colored hair up into a messy bun, ignoring the static electricity it had gathered sticking to her flannel robe in the night.

As she passed the wide window overlooking the pasture, she could see Melon -her gelding, Ginny -her mare, a gigantic black horse, and Billy the goat, testing the fresh snowfall by taking timid steps. She continued to her coffee maker, slapping a healthy dose of coffee grounds into the filter (probably a greater-than ratio of coffee to the water she had already added) before pressing the red 'on' button.

"Wait a second," she mumbled to herself as she cautiously approached the window. At eight in the morning, Mildred knew her mind wasn't firing with all cylinders quite yet. It was possible that she hallucinated something new there in the field, being only half-awake.

She drew aside the handmade, lacy curtains to count the pasture again with all of her focus. Melon, Ginny, a black horse, and Billy. Clearly, there was something wrong, she just couldn't puzzle it out just yet.

Melon was grabbing for Ginny's plaid blanket, while Ginny sniffed at Billy, and Billy bleated at the black horse.

Ah, the dark horse. The most obvious thing. _Almost like an omen, _she thought, _but of what_?

He (she assumed the animal to be a male just from the toss of his proud head until she could confirm it later) was a fine animal. However, he did not belong to her.

Abandoning her coffee efforts, Mildred stuffed her socked feet into the blue goulashes she kept near the door, pulled on the heavy winter trench coat, and a red scarf to venture out into the snow. _Perhaps he's a neighbor's horse, _she reasoned.

Living far away from the village, far away from anyone really Mildred wasn't quite sure what neighbor the horse would belong to anyway. She couldn't recall ever seeing such a fine animal in these parts. He did put, if she were completely honest, her lovelies to shame.

Melon moseyed over to the fence, nickering softly in hopes of a treat once he spotted Mildred. Melon was now her oldest horse at nearly 15. Her Gran had bought him at a horse fair when Mildred was a teenager, so they could ride the countryside together when Mildred spent the summers away from boarding school.

Melon looked fierce with his size and muddled breeding, but his heart was pure gold. Mildred never once encountered a problem with Melon, so named because of his apparent fondness for farmer's melon patches. Her Gran had called him 'the gentle giant.' The big, sorrel gelding followed her around as Mildred clomped around the fence in the snow, looking for how the black horse could have slipped into her pasture.

After once around the fence and no tracks but her own, in any direction, Mildred felt a chill run down her back that was not caused by the cold. She knew there was a possibility that the horse had arrived in the middle of the night by jumping the fence or someone dumping him off, the snowfall acting as an accomplice and just covering the tracks.

But that theory didn't quite sit right with Mildred.

She unlatched her gate and let herself into the pasture connected to her barn. Melon trotted up, his whiskered mouth exploring the pockets of her trench coat for a treat of some kind. Early on, Melon had learned from Mildred's Gran that the trench coat meant treats – Mildred inheriting the coat along with the cottage.

She unwrapped a peppermint and fed Melon before approaching the dark horse. Melon did not seem terribly pleased with the simple peppermint offering, but ate the candy anyway, sticking his lengthy tongue out and making all manner of silly faces to indicate his displeasure. He preferred fruit or vegetables.

Ginny, always a little more skittish, followed along at a further pace with Billy around her chocolate-colored knees. Poor Ginny had been a replacement for Gran's horse named Fox. Fox had broken her leg out on the moors. When they had to…Mildred didn't finish the thought. Gran had died a year or so after that and Mildred always thought it was because she couldn't live without Fox.

Ginny was spirited; something her Gran admired.

"Look at that proud nose!" Gran would exclaim as Ginny cantered off into the pasture once she was released from the saddle, "that's not something you can teach Mildred. It's something they're born with."

Mildred eventually learned to handle Ginny's moods, chalking some behavior up to the horse version of PMS and other up to just young horse freshness. Gran had taken Ginny in, from the village grocer

The last thing Gran had done before she died was acquire Billy, the goat. She was under the impression that Ginny needed something to care for. Mildred was under the impression that the poor farmer just down the way needed a little extra income. Billy, however, walked around the farm as if he had belonged there his whole life.

The little goat stuck close to Ginny, just as Gran had predicted, to the point of nearly tripping her up. The two were rarely separated. Mildred figured Billy thought he was just a shorter horse.

Now all three animals were following her at different speeds, as she trekked out to the dark horse. Mildred was sure it must have looked like an odd sort of parade that morning.

Mildred was sure to hold out her hand, palm up with another peppermint right in the center, as she slowly approached the strange horse. Black ears flicked forward, at full attention, the cold morning air like smoke pouring from his nostrils.

_I know I am being quite silly, but it is almost as if this horse appeared out of thin air. _She looked for any white markings that would help her identify him later to interested parties. No white markings. Just a big, solid, black horse.

_Or maybe he came down in the snowstorm. _As he reached for the peppermint in her hand, Mildred noted that he was still wearing a ragged headstall, the longest sections of the reins had long-since snapped off.

He would need the extra blanket she had in her tack room, as his short, muddy coat was not suited to this kind of weather. She rubbed his muzzle, his wide eyes mellowed out again. If she could just get him into the barn, to assess him, things would be better.

Using the remains raggedy headstall, Mildred managed to add one more horse to the parade, this time into the barn. Fox had once slept in the extra stall. Mildred didn't want to think about Fox or what had happened again.

Instead, she focused on putting the black horse safely into the stall, being sure the door to the pasture was firmly secured behind her so the other horses would give them peace and quiet.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt to feed you and clean you up," Mildred told the horse, who seemed to understand. "But I can't do it in my pajamas. I'll be back." As Mildred stumbled back to the house, her legs cold and stinging, she thought about what her Gran would probably say: _Don't look a gift horse in the mouth._

Mildred however, intended to look this horse over from top to bottom for any sign of his actual master, disease, or other nuances in his general appearance. It was not every day that horses just showed up.

"If this is indeed an omen," she mumbled, "I'm not sure what it's supposed to mean yet."

X

Jamie's head ached, making his whole body seem the worse for wear. Despite the cold morning air that washed over his face as he stumbled along a country road in the early morning hours, Jamie felt as if he were on fire.

Sweat beaded up on his forehead, his mussed hair sticking to his skin. He was starving, delusional from starvation and fever, and sure, that he wasn't going to last much longer under these conditions.

Up ahead he saw what appeared to be an abandoned barn.

_Excellent, _he thought, _a private place to die. At least the Germans won't have my body. _He wasn't sure how exactly he had managed to secure his escape from the Germans. There had been a minor window of opportunity and good fortune seemed to smile on him for a time. Every so often he still glanced behind him, just to be sure.

His once spotless uniform was ragged and reeking from continual wear. Jamie was ready to strip it off, to let the cool air reach further.

Feeling as if he were all limbs and skin, Jamie managed to push the door open just enough to collapse in a stack of hay. The familiar smell filled his nose and made his heart ache that both Joey and Topthorn had been taken.

_I'll never see him again, _Jamie thought as he crawled further in the barn, to avoid being noticed. His lips formed a hard line. There was a door behind the hay, which struck Jamie as odd. He made for it, as it would make a good final hiding place. The edges of the door were only to be seen from his particular angle.

_Maybe our part in this terrible war won't have been in vain. _He put his fingers to the rough wood and pushed through. The room on the other side of the door was completely dark. He crawled inside, wondering if he would meet his beloved horse in the afterlife.

Just before Jamie closed his eyes, he experienced the sensation of being carried along a corridor somewhere. _I think I should like to live just a bit longer _was Jamie's last thought before he felt himself strike something hard and smelling faintly of leather.

X

**Author's Note: **Not to worry, Jamie isn't dead. He's only fallen though a rather large…loophole.


	3. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: **Thank you so much for all the support thus far on this story. I really appreciate it!

Hope you enjoy this next part!

**Disclaimer: **Don't own. Never will.

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Worlds Collide

Chapter Two

**Mildred Callahan's Journal – Jan 1, 2000**

**Later**

_There's a horse in my pasture. Simply beautiful creature. _

_I just have no idea to whom he might belong. _

_I'll clean him up first, then make some inquiries I suppose. Surely someone will notice he is gone. _

_But if no one comes to claim him, then I suppose I'll shall be keeping him then. At least until another circumstance presents itself._

X

Mildred hurriedly gulped down a cup of coffee and half of a very dry biscuit from the day before. It simply wouldn't do to try and work with a horse on an empty stomach. She knew it wasn't exactly the 'breakfast of champions' her Gran had preferred, but Mildred was eager to execute her chores and assess the condition of the strange horse as soon as possible.

She pulled on her warmest clothes, all items from the bargain bin of the local second hand shop. They were not particularly attractive, however, Mildred found them work appropriate: a thick sweater in faded emerald, thick jeans – boot cut for her goulashes. Her coat was her Gran's favorite, a tan trench ready for shoveling snow and hay alike.

Grabbing a couple of apples from her fruit basket, Mildred trudged outside again, trying to follow her path from earlier through the snow.

With Ginny, Melon, and Billy watching, she mucked their stalls in double time before preparing her Gran's mash rations that had been in their family since the 1700s. "Mil," her Gran had told her more than once, "every generation there is a girl born into this family that has the soul of a horsewoman. You are that girl this time." Her Gran had first confessed this while watching Cayleen pick her way across the pasture at age ten, complaining about chores.

As Mildred stepped into the strange horse's stall with the bucket of mash, the horse pricked his ears forward and seemed as cautious as he had been in the pasture minutes before.

She used her best 'cooing' voice to soothe him again, whispering nonsensical words or sounds. He stretched his neck as far as possible in an effort to reach the bucket without taking a single step towards her.

After years of working with Ginny, Mildred was extremely patient. She made no sudden moves and let the horse become accustomed to her presence.

"I won't hurt you," she told him, after he had finally stepped forward for more mash. She was scratching behind one of his large ears, something he seemed to enjoy thoroughly. At the end of the stable, Melon whinnied to them.

Mildred wouldn't admit it, but something in Melon's call seemed to cause the stranger to loosen up around her. _Now they're having horsey conversations I guess. I think I might be spending too much time alone these days if that's what I am seriously thinking._

She finally retreated to the tack room for her brushes and extra equipment. It was comforting in a way to be putting Fox's old gear to use. Gran had stored it for practical uses, though Mildred believed it was because Gran could not bear to part with Fox's favorite things.

Collecting the box of brushes, Mildred glanced around the room, noting that it needed to be sorted when the weather was far more favorable. There were extra saddles, headstalls, boots, harnesses, and other bits of leather that Mildred was sure had been on the property since before she or Cayleen were even a thought in their parent's minds.

Mildred wished she could think of an appropriate name for the horse, something to call him at least in her head as she tended to him. She drew a blank however, as no name she could conceive seemed befitting of his regal demeanor.

And she didn't want to confuse him, should his owner appear soon.

He was currently snuffling the pockets of her coat, which she had now peeled off and abandoned over the stall door in the warmth of the stable. He had gobbled up an apple already. Every few minutes he would pause the snuffling and turn around to look at her, as if to say, "Where are the rest of them then?"

"You are a sneaky thing then," Mildred told him, watching as his coat began to gleam with her hard work. "Have to keep my eye on you, won't I?" Keeping her eye on him wouldn't be trouble, as he was very striking indeed – especially now that he was cleaner.

With a blanket and fresh halter on, the horse looked as loved and cared for as her others.

Feeling immensely satisfied, Mildred worked her way down the stable, brushing and caring for Melon, Ginny, and Billy. A year or two back, Mildred had bought Billy his own set of brushes because he insisted he had to be brushed the same time she brushed Ginny.

Billy would work his way between them, until Mildred would finally have to give pause and brush the little goat too. This morning he was particularly feisty, because she had taken up so much time with the pasture stranger. Billy gnawed everything in sight to show his displeasure with the change in morning routine. Usually Ginny and Billy were the first.

Melon, with the most patience, seemed content to snooze on his feet as she attended everyone else. Mildred was thankful, as Melon's coat was always the dirtiest and took her the most time to clean.

He pulled her coat down from the stall door, so that he could nuzzle through her pockets at his leisure as she sorted him out.

"Melon, I don't know how you do it," Mildred told him. "Especially with snow on the ground. You must have a perpetual dust cloud following you around, like that boy from the _Peanuts._"

This was Mildred's favorite time of the morning, however, spending time with the horses. Today she didn't have to rush through her routine, because the office was closed. It was after noon before she felt satisfied all the horses were clean for New Years.

As she was on the way to the tack room, Mildred heard a frightful racket from inside. Being out so far away from the village, she rarely worried about burglars. Mildred could see in all directions on her property, the nearest farm being a speck in the horizon line.

She did worry more about the sort of creature that might have fallen in from the rafters or crawled through a vent. Mildred was sure to grab her spare broom before she let herself into the cramped room.

"Alright you bloody rat, out of my tack room!" she shouted, jumping inside to have the advantage of surprise over the creature.

Instead, Mildred was the one flummoxed.

There was a man on the floor, tangled in one of her Gran's old saddles and Fox's favorite headstall, the one with the flash noseband. In the wall beside him, a small door was rapidly closing after releasing the stranger. Mildred quickly crossed the room, stepping over him to catch a glimpse of the other side in an attempt to figure out where exactly he came from.

Her Gran had told her once, about a strange door in the wall, a door that seemed to lead to nowhere. Mildred had not thought of the story in years, brushing it off as only a childhood tale. Grandmothers were supposed to be colorful and hers was no exception.

Except, now the door was impossibly real and there was an actual flesh and blood man deposited on the floor in front of it.

And he was sick.

Mildred could see it time she rolled him over after untangling him. His handsome face was dirty and flushed, his odd clothing torn and sullied.

Was that a uniform he was wearing? She knelt down, peering closer at his features.

It was a uniform. Was this some sort of practical joke? But she had no close friends who would bother playing something this elaborate on her.

She touched the rough, military-colored fabric, feeling the course material in conjunction with the cold metal and supple leather of the remnants of what had once been a proud outfit. If she hazarded a guess, she would say either of the World Wars. History had not been her strong point in school.

Cleaned up, he would be handsome, with soft, brown-highlighted hair combed away from his face. His fair cheeks were flushed, the color bringing out their fine structure, making his moustache more prominent.

Who had moustaches like his in today's world? She could see that it had once been tended to with precision and regularity, despite the stubble that covered his jaw.

_No, _she thought, _this like something out of one of those cheap romances. Lonely woman finds handsome stranger on her property, turns out to be dream man? _She wanted to laugh, but watching his shallow breathing, she didn't. Whoever he was, he desperately needed a doctor.

Then another thought occurred to her. _Or woman finds murdering psychopath in her stable. He chops her into little bits and stores her in freezer for months. _

But he didn't feel that way. In fact, it was like the horse this morning. _What are the odds? Two strangers appear on my property in one morning. _

Mildred knew there was no such thing as coincidence.

No, this man was here for a reason. Her Gran had said the door opened for a particular purpose. Would her Gran lie? Probably. But Mildred didn't think someone could concoct a lie this elaborate with such conviction.

The man was stirring. She peered closer at his eyes, unaware that she was practically leaning over him now. What color eyes lurked behind those closed lids?

Pale blue.

The stranger was staring up at her through pale blue eyes, though as they flicked around the room at his new surroundings, they seemed to have a touch of green to them. The man struggled to pull himself up, scaring Mildred into falling backwards and landing ungracefully on her bum.

"W-wh-where am I?" he asked, bringing a hand to touch at his brow. He seemed to be in a great deal of pain. Mildred liked the timbre of his voice.

"My stable," Mildred answered, realizing two seconds after she said it, that it was not a proper or fulfilling answer to his query. Wasn't there something about Germans? "In England," she added. Just to be safe, she said, "In 2000."

"You must be…" It took him a second to compose himself, after letting his head hit the floor again. "Mistaken. It's 19-" His voice dropped off. Mildred wondered if it was because he was searching for the date, from which he originated.

Instead, she realized a second later, after he did not answer, he seemed to have passed out.

She shook him back to consciousness. He needed help and she couldn't leave him in her tack room.

"Listen, you've got to come with me," she told him, trying to heave him up. She threw his arm around her neck as he struggled to his feet. Mildred was much smaller and it was evident time he drew himself to his feet. They hobbled along between the stalls, looking quite a pair. Mildred thought that if horses were capable of laughter, they were probably howling as they watched.

The stranger's eyes darted around the barn, Mildred supposed to be sure that she was indeed the only one. His eyes fell on the black horse and she thought the stranger was going to send them both tumbling to the ground in his excitement.

"My horse," he repeated several times, trying to pull Mildred back the other direction. The horse seemed to recognize the man, tossing his proud head into the air before leaning over the stall door for a better look. "Topthorn."

"Topthorn?" Mildred repeated, tasting the name. It did have appeal. It sounded like something she once heard and nothing she'd heard before, like a dream or a memory that she couldn't quite place.

"How do you have my horse?" the stranger asked her, his eyes narrowing.

"I don't know. But your horse will be here. Now come on, I've got to see to you." The stranger swiped his hand across the horse's nose and remained in place. "He's in good hands, I can assure you." She pulled the remainder of his sleeve and this time he warily followed her.

Out in the cold, the man's high temperature was more prominent. Mildred noted that he seemed to enjoy the change. Rivulets of sweat made their way down his face starting just beneath his hairline. Mildred was freezing, having forgotten her coat. In a terrible, but secret way, she was glad for his heat, as her coat was probably still in Melon's stall.

Mildred was going to need to send for a doctor. She knew that Doctor Patel, the village's newest addition would ask too many questions. Until she figured out just what was going on, she needed less snooping.

Her only other option was Doctor McGregor who still made house calls. He had been her Gran's doctor during the last year she was alive and one of Gran's few close friends. He wouldn't be so prying.

Once inside the cottage, she helped the stranger into her kitchen chair. Mildred didn't think he would make it a step further. His head lolled and his eyes were threatening to roll up inside his head.

He mumbled, "I must be dreaming, I must be dreaming," as he tried to focus on something in her kitchen. Mildred grabbed the corded phone and dialed.

The stranger looked as if he were going to fall out of his chair, so Mildred moved closer to use her hip to steady him as she clutched the phone with both hands, silently pleading with it to ring faster.

"What's your name?" she asked him, in an effort to keep him conscious.

"Major Jamie Stewart." He said it so automatically that even he looked surprised. Had he been a child, Mildred was sure he would have clapped his hand to his mouth as if he had just divulged the wrong secret.

"Well Major Stewart, I'm going to find you some help."

"Doctor George McGregor," a familiar scratchy voice said into the phone.

"Doctor McGregor, its Mildred."

"Oh Mildred. Pleasant day today, is it not. You are aware you do not need to work today."

"Yes. But…" She looked down at the man calling himself Jamie, how he seemed to be worsening by the second. "There's an emergency."

"Despite my best efforts, I am not a veterinarian," McGregor told her with a laugh.

"No, I need a people doctor today. I've found a man in my tack room. He's feverish and delusional."

"Delusional?"

"Seems to believe that he is a soldier from…" Mildred hazarded a guess. "World War One," she whispered.

"In that case Mildred, I suggest you call the police."

"Doctor McGregor," Mildred continued, "please. I do not think he wishes me harm. And he's sick." McGregor seemed to be thinking it over. "Please. I'm quite afraid…" She didn't want to voice her concern. "That he's going to die."

There was a length of silence on the other line as Mildred waited with bated breath.

"Alright. I will have my bag. Expect me in ten-twenty minutes time. In the mean time, cool him down." They exchanged goodbyes and Mildred had a lump in her throat. The Major, or whoever he actually was, was resting against her hip, nearly unconscious.

"Jamie," she said, crouching down with the phone cradled to her chest, the cord protesting from the abuse. "Jamie." Mildred touched his face and he lifted his head slightly. She thought use of his first name would grab his attention faster than just his ranking.

The phone was now emitting the whine of a dial tone.

She jumped into action, hanging up the phone before grabbing one of her kitchen washcloths. She ran the faded chicken and egg print under the coldest water she could from the tap, before returning to Jamie to wipe his face.

He groaned, leaning into her hand as she brushed his hair back so that the water could reach more skin. He was no longer trying to mumble anything at her. There was no time to worry about whether he was contagious or not.

She wondered if she needed to peel some of the uniform off, to reach his neck, arms and chest. The thought made her blush, despite the severity of the situation. She left them on, waiting to see what Doctor McGregor would recommend instead.

Mildred enticed him to take a few sips of water, most of which spilled down his chin and neck.

He was still so close to tumbling from her chair and Mildred did not want to add concussion to his already worsening sickness. Mildred steadied him with her hip and free hand again, keeping a washcloth pressed to his forehead.

He pressed his hot cheek to her to hip, the fever radiating through her clothes as he said, "You're the most attractive dream I've ever had – if not the most curious." His arms hung limp by his sides.

She blushed and thanked him, wondering if that was going to be the last thing he ever said when Doctor McGregor finally pulled up into her yard and waddled his way into the house.

X

**Author's Note: **Poor Jamie! Don't worry, he won't remember too much about what he's said :) I can't make love that easy for him just yet.


	4. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: **Thank you so much for the reviews, favs, and alerts on this story! I really appreciate it!

I'm also uploading another story that is a side/companion story to this one, centering around Captain Nicholls - called Strangeness and Charm. Will be similar circumstances, in the same village, with overlapping characters at different times. Doctor George McGregor will connect the pieces together officially, as he is a doctor after all :)

Without further delay, I give you chapter three :)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the characters of War Horse, only those of my own creation. No money is made from this.

* * *

Worlds Collide

Chapter Three

When Doctor George McGregor rose late on New Year 's Day, he did not expect to receive a phone call from Mildred – the younger, about a sick stranger in her home. Mildred- the former-had been one of his closest friends and so he kept an eye on her granddaughter, out of courtesy. The younger Mildred, however, was strong, just like her grandmother. She hardly required his watchful eye.

George had been looking forward to a day of calls being forwarded to the much younger, not to mention single, Doctor Patel. George would have retired from practice years ago, except that he didn't know what he would do with so much free time. _Probably die, _he thought cynically.

Instead, George planned on using his precious free time to catch up on the 6-month out of date bestseller in his favorite armchair, while smoking a cigar, and every so often glancing at pictures of his one great love – Harriet, who had passed away ten years ago.

He had no further than settled in his armchair than the phone had rung. If it were for Patel, then it would ring once more and stop. George listened through four rings before realizing someone was dialing his number on purpose.

In all his years of knowing young Mildred, he was certain he had never heard her so panicked. Not even when her Gran had passed away in her sleep one summer night, had her voice wavered and broke so. With her Gran, it had been expected. George swore, after the death of that horse, former Mildred seemed to have lost the will to live.

George partly understood, with his own loss of Harriet, and partly did not. Former Mildred seemed more broken up over that horse than she had when her husband had passed away in the early 80s. George supposed, as he rounded up his medical bag and coat, that maybe something strange had happened over on Mildred's farm in the middle of the night.

He had woken up sometime in the middle of the snowstorm, with a restlessness befitting a man over half his age and no reason to explain it. Maybe there had been a bit of _Doctor Who _magic involved. George would be able to offer young Mildred some peace once he saw the supposed 'soldier.'

After all, George's father had been a young veteran of 'The Great War.' George would know best whether the man was genuine or not, he contemplated as he tried to stuff his sausage-like arms into the sleeves of his coat. He really needed to replace this one.

As he drove across the fresh layer of snow, George felt as if he had traveled back in time. Everything was so pristine, before those rowdy children with sleds appeared to muck up the scenery. He could almost imagine a horse and sleigh prancing along the fields beside him.

"Now is not the time for sight-seeing," he muttered to himself, trying to drive a little faster. Something was nagging at him, urging him on.

George located the source of the nagging, once he waddled through younger Mildred's doorway. It was still so strange to visit the cottage and not have Former Mildred greet him with a fresh pot of tea on the stove, her hands on her frail hips, going "Well look what the cat dragged in from the pasture!"

He looked past where he remembered Mildred's Gran standing so many times before, to see younger Mildred holding a young man up with her hip.

One glance at the remnants of the man's uniform and George knew this man was not delusional. His father's uniform was packed away now, in one of Harriet's trunks, but George knew the make anywhere.

"Great Scot," he murmured, nearly dropping his bag, before catching sight of younger Mildred's horrified face; George proceeded over.

"Please, help him," she told him, her worried blue eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I want no more death in this home."

"Come, we must move him to the guest bedroom," George told her, wasting no time in grabbing one of the stranger's arms with his marshmallow-like fingers.

X

**Jan 1 –Much Later**

_Well, I've finally found myself a man. _

_Literally. _

_In my tack room of all places, heaven knows. _

_And he might die. _

_And there's nothing more I can do but wait._

_I hate waiting._

X

Mildred paced outside the spare bedroom, listening for any sound as Doctor McGregor worked on Major Stewart. Every now and again, she would hear a groan or catches of a conversation.

But the worst was the silence.

She supposed this was how expectant fathers of old felt, before they were allowed inside the birthing room. _Now if only I had one of those fab moustaches, _Mildred thought wryly, before mentally scolding herself.

Now was not the time to be thinking such vain or childish things. A man could very well be dying on the other side of that door.

Unable to stand the suspense any longer, Mildred pushed open the door. She did not realize that Doctor McGregor was on the other side and thus nearly bowled the small, portly man end over end.

"Sorry," she whispered, squeezing through the crack of the door, so as not to disturb the patient. He was propped up with many pillows on the double guest bed that Cayleen and Dave shared. She was thankful that she had just changed the sheets after they left, because heaven knew what happened in this bedroom.

The Major's face did not appear quite as flushed, his breathing more normal, and his entire demeanor more peaceful. She hoped that McGregor had not been coming to bear her ill news that there was no chance of recovery.

"How is he?" she asked, once McGregor had righted himself and adjusted the rolled up cuffs of his blue button-down shirt.

"I won't lie. He's not well Mildred. But he's not at death's doorstep any longer." He paused, seeming to search for the right words. "Mildred, how exactly did you come upon this man?"

"I've already told you that. He was in my tack room. There was a door-" The doctor held up a hand, stopping her.

"Mildred, you might be the one who needs an examination. Are you sure one of those beasts out there didn't throw you?" he asked with a wry smile.

"Doctor McGregor," she sighed, "I'm telling the truth. How could I lie? How could I make this up?" He had always told her call him 'George' but it never seemed right.

"I know you're telling the truth."

"You do?"

"This man," he gestured to Jamie, "is from The Great War."

"How did you know?"

"My father, I have his uniform. He did not live to see World War Two. My mother used to pull the uniform out and tell me his story when I was old enough to understand."

Mildred had always thought of McGregor as ageless, but now she could see more of the wrinkles about his mouth and eyes, the slow failing of his body. "I do not know how he came to be in your tack room, but he's quite lucky he did. Any longer, wherever he was, and this man would have died."

"Where do I go from here then?"

"Go put a kettle on. I've heard you out here pacing Mildred Enid Callahan." She winced at the use of her full name. "He'll hold for a good cuppa. You look like you could use one yourself."

Mildred did as she was asked, thankful to be busy in some small way. A few minutes later, her Gran's familiar yellow kettle was whistling away as she readied the cups with her favorite brand of Earl Grey. Doctor McGregor emerged from the room a few minutes later, as the tea bags were beginning to steep.

He lowered himself heavily into one of her chairs, Mildred taking the opposite one. Cream. Sugar. They both sipped thoughtfully for a few minutes.

"Is he contagious?" Mildred finally asked.

"No. I do not believe so. I think he's malnourished and whatever his journey was, seemed particularly shocking. I would almost believe it was the common cold, only worse."

"Could it be something worse? From his time?"

"It could be, but I doubt so. However, there is Typhus, Typhoid fever – as they are not quite the same despite the name, Dysentery, Shock, etc, depending on where he was. The Germans would have wanted him alive and marginally well, to answer their questions. He mentioned something about hunger. I believe complications arising from their starve tactic, then exposure to elements, and then his journey here."

"So in the mean time?"

"I'm going to provide you with a list of instructions. If he worsens in the middle of the night, call me straightaway. I know that taking him to a hospital at this point would be risky."

"Yes. I don't know how I would explain him. Think of the culture shock."

"There is that." In his flourished handwriting, McGregor began a list on one of the scratch pads Mildred kept nearby for her grocery list. "Be sure that he drinks plenty of fluids, even if he fights you. If he will not drink those, tempt him with a frozen treat, anything as long as it nourishes. I happen to know that your Gran kept a store of popsicles somewhere around here, winter or summer. I'll leave you some Yarrow tea. If he will not drink it, because many won't, then make him bathe in it."

Mildred wasn't sure she relished that thought, despite the Major's handsomeness. Making a grown man, take a bath in front of a strange woman, in bitter tea did not seem like an appropriate plan.

"I'll leave a recipe for cool wraps. You should have the apple vinegar around here. Dilute it with water, dip socks and rags in it, then the socks on the feet, rags on the wrists. You have your Gran's thermometer?"

"Yes."

"Check his temperature regularly with it. The important thing is to nourish him and get that fever down. After twenty-four hours, if there is no improvement, then we will have to take him to the hospital."

"If he improves, what will I do about work?"

"I'll tell Patel that you're working on something for me. You'll still be paid. This man won't be able to be left alone much at first. You'll need to stay up with him tonight."

"I can do that," she nodded. She had stayed up with ill horses through the years.

"I've started him on an IV, couple of bags of fluids for the afternoon. I'll sit with him for a few more hours, while you tend to chores around the farm."

"Thank you," she said, before polishing off the last of her tea.

"He mentioned something about a Topthorn."

"That would be his horse."

"A horse?"

"Yes. You see, before he appeared, a horse appeared in my pasture early this morning," Mildred confessed. "I had just cleaned him up when the Major appeared."

"Ah, well then he would not be exposed to the same things the men in the trenches would be exposed to then. He was a Major of the cavalry I would assume." _No wonder he worried about his horse, _Mildred thought. She glanced outside, where the horses were wandering around in the snow. On the horizon, the sun was beginning to set, casting reds and oranges across the land.

"I'll be back in a flash," she told McGregor. "Best tend to the horses before darkness sets in." Mildred needed to see what was left of her coat anyway.

X

Jamie opened his eyes, blinking at the unfamiliar surroundings. The room was small, the bed taking up the majority of the floor space, with a chair squeezed in on one side. Pale, yellow curtains were pulled shut over a double window, but he could see it was nearly dark outside.

"Ah, so you're awake again," a jovial voice said beside him. Jamie slowly turned his sore neck to see a portly man squeezed between the bed and the chair, checking a bag full of fluid hanging beside a lamp. The man was not German or French.

Jamie did not feel as if he were burning, like before.

Instead, he was tucked up in the bed, with calico blankets and pillows surrounding him. This was a woman's room. Or had been. Jamie swallowed, his throat feeling dry. The little man handed him a glass of cool, refreshing water. Jamie sipped, trying not to overindulge.

"Where is the woman?" he finally asked, his voice crackling slightly. He did not have a formal name for her.

"She is tending to the horses and will return soon. In the meantime, you and I can chat, if you feel up to it." The man, he assumed to be a doctor, was dressed simply, but a little unfamiliarly. "Or rather, I'll chat and you just listen, and fill in where you can, alright?"

"I suppose," Jamie agreed. His request seemed reasonable enough and he did not seem to be the enemy. The man picked Jamie's brain a few minutes, about what happened to cause his current condition and current surroundings, until Jamie drifted off to sleep again.

X

Mildred stripped off her coat and hung it on the peg just as the sun disappeared under the edge of the horizon line. The horses acted strangely, Mildred supposed, because of her mood. She was worried about Jamie.

She didn't think could bear if another person died in her Gran's house, even if he was a complete stranger.

Mildred prepared herself a quick bite to eat, before grabbing up her crochet and stepping into Jamie's room. He appeared to be peacefully asleep, finally. She glanced at Doctor McGregor, seated beside the bed.

George was fast asleep in the chair. Mildred had left him a sandwich on her counter.

"Doctor," she whispered, shaking his gently.

"Hmm-what's that?"

"You were asleep," she smiled. "I'll sit with him now. You need to be heading home."

"Yes, yes. Quite right." He rubbed a thick hand over his face as he struggled to stand from the chair. "I was just dreaming about the time we went on Holiday with your Gran, to Dartmoor in Devon. You couldn't have been more than a tot. Your parents had just died, and your Gran needed a change of scene. Harriet, had packed a picnic but it rained. But you know what your Gran told her?"

Mildred knew, but this was one of her favorite stories of George's. "What did she tell her?"

"That's okay. Just grab your umbrellas and we'll pretend we're ducks." Mildred realized he must have been telling her the story to cheer her up, to remind her of her Gran's positive attitude through even the worst situations.

Or perhaps, he had really been dreaming it.

"Then I'll pretend I'm a duck," Mildred told him softly. She thanked him for coming out and told him about the sandwich before she wished him goodnight.

Settling in with her crochet for a few minutes, before checking on the Major's status, Mildred couldn't help but feel like Elinor, from _Sense and Sensibility, _spending a long, agonizing night hoping that Marianne lived.

X


	5. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: **Thank you so much for all the reviews / favs/ alerts on this story. I really appreciate them! They pretty much make my day!

**Bonus Info: **Mildred's name would have been one typical around the Victorian/Edwardian time, along with a bunch of other names that have fallen out of popular use. It does serve a purpose for this story, just trust me. There are some subtle (very subtle) hints about her name and her relationship with her Gran - a twist that will come later with explanation and a change, I do promise. These things just take time.

I've had a couple of comments on what would be a better name - one of which was quite rude over the weekend.

But, you take the good with the bad and crack on :)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own. No money is made from this. Etc. etc.

Worlds Collide

Chapter Four

**Mildred Callahan's Journal - 2 January, 2000**

_Watching the strange man – Jamie- sleep. _

_He seems better. _

_For now. _

_Doctor McGregor seems to think that he'll live. That's wonderful. _

_And if he lives, what do I do then?_

_He actually seems to be from the 1900s. Doctor McGregor confirmed it and he has no reason to lie to me. _

_Must make him drink, though. Check his temperature. That sort of thing. A man is a bit different from a horse after all. _

X

Mildred's kettle was taking some abuse, through the night, with cup after cup of tea being boiled – one cup for her nerves and another for Jamie.

"Please, no more," he croaked at her around two am.

"But you must drink," she told him. "Doctor's orders."

"You do not look qualified," he observed. If he hadn't been so ill, Mildred wondered if she would have taken more offense. _He's just from a different time, that's all. And he's sick. He doesn't know what he's saying. _She hoped it was true at least.

"Well, if you won't drink, I'll have to try something else." Jamie hated to see what that 'something else' might be. This woman was dressed in men's trousers that seemed a little too tight. Where were the skirts and dresses? Where was her corset for goodness sakes?

Then again, there was something alluring about how she was missing her undergarments, and furthermore didn't seem to care. Jamie knew there were women who proudly didn't follow propriety, not women whom travelled in his mother's social circles, but that didn't deny their presence. He watched her leave the room, the sway of her unrestrained hips. _Naughty, _he thought to himself, trying to keep the smirk from his face. _Scandalous even. _

She set the cup down and went in search of the popsicles in her Gran's freezer. They were in the bottom with frozen fruit from the summer before. She grabbed out a red one that she supposed was cherry, breaking it in half.

When she returned, he was sitting up a little higher in bed. She had assisted McGregor in changing Jamie's clothes to some that she supposed were her grandfather's things, at least until his uniform could be cleaned.

"What do you have in your hand?" he asked. Mildred realized he had probably never seen ice frozen in this particular manner.

"Well, if you won't drink, I have to try an alternative. This is flavored ice," she told him. "For your throat and fever." He took the end of the stick reluctantly. "See?"

Mildred slipped the smooth end of the Popsicle between her lips, sucking gently to show Jamie it wouldn't hurt him. Instead of being fearful or nervous, Mildred watched as blush crept into his pale cheeks.

"Ah, sorry. Just try it." She sat back down, facing away from him. She had not realized how oddly sexual this frozen treat could be, especially to someone who was more familiar with Victorian and Edwardian values.

"Interesting," he said, after a time. Mildred glanced around at him, to see he was left with just a bare stick and a tantalizing red mouth.

"Er, thank you." She took the stick from him and deposited it into the nearest rubbish bin. Mildred reached out and felt Jamie's forehead, cheeks, and neck. He was still warm, but not burning. "I'll be back. I'll soak you some rags and socks, for your fever." His skin was unexpectedly soft.

Jamie's fingers gripped the bedspread. It felt so real. He couldn't be dreaming, could he? But this all seemed to be some sort of dream – not a nightmare because he was not afraid – but a dream.

And this woman, with her heavy curtain of copper waves and quiet, unassailable air. That hair was just begging to be caressed. He had often heard men in the barracks talk about women in such poetic terms, but it had never meant anything to him, until now.

He had not been allowed to marry when he first joined up, and then once he moved up in ranking, he no time to marry when he could.

Who was she to tell him – a Major- what to do though?

Also, _who_ was she even? He didn't know her name, though she knew his and had already frequently used it without the proper address or intimacy required for such an action.

If this was the future, as either she or the doctor had professed, it was vastly different from his time. Had they won the war? Had everything been in vain after all? And what of his family? Did they survive through his brothers? What of his mother? Had any word of his movements reached her? Of that final, disastrous charge?

Topthorn was here with him, but what did that mean? What did any of this mean?

Had he really been given a second chance?

Jamie had said after all that he wanted to live.

And this woman, this stranger who had taken him in, was attractive. He had told her so, during his fever. He had not exactly been kind to her in the moments following his rescue.

Acerbic was just his way, from being around men twenty four-seven, men that he had been responsible for – charged with keeping them safe so they could return home.

The woman returned with a tub of foul smelling rags, bright smile lighting up her features. Goodness, she was disarming, wasn't she? Why that mouth alone and the way it had wrapped so delicately around the strange frozen treat was enough to send his thoughts in wicked directions.

"Alright, let's get that fever down, shall we?" She pulled a rag out of the liquid. Jamie's nose wrinkled. "Vinegar," she told him. "An old remedy my Gran was fond of using. Chases the fever straight out of you." Jamie could see why as her slender fingers took his wrist, binding the warm material to his skin.

"Miss, I'm afraid I've been quite short with you since my arrival," he said, as she began wrapping his other wrist.

"Oh, think nothing of it," she told him, keeping her face bent over her work.

"Miss, there is no excuse for my behavior to a member of the opposite sex," he continued, his fingers hooking beneath her chin, lifting her face so that he could see her face, so that the apology meant something.

Smooth, fair skin, the color of fresh buttermilk. Emerald eyes. He could see strawberry hued blush creeping across her cheeks.

"Oh, no, I'm used to it," she told him. "Half the village is rude to me when I can't get them in to see the doctor at the time they believe they should."

"What sort of world do you live in? No one should ever be rude to a lady intentionally," Jamie told her.

"That's the way the world works now," Mildred told him gently. "Though I wish it were more like the one you lived in, where people still believed in being respectful to one another." She held his gaze for a second or two longer. Mildred was reluctant for him to let go and he seemed equally reluctant to let her go.

"Forgive me Miss, but you intimately know my name when I do not know yours."

"Oh, right." She wrung one of the socks out into the tub before moving to the end of the bed. "It's Mildred. Mildred Callahan. Well Enid, if you throw in my middle name, but I usually don't." She was rambling, but she couldn't help it.

"Mrs. Callahan," he said, testing her last name.

"Oh goodness no. That man here earlier was not my husband. He's my boss at work and was a friend of my Gran's. So it's just Miss." She watched his eyes widen as she lifted the bed covers just enough to find his feet. She was borrowing a pair of Dave's socks and she hoped they fit.

Right, she was unmarried, under thirty, and lacked a chaperone – as etiquette in the Major's time dictated was proper for single ladies.

"Miss Callahan."

"You don't even have to call me Miss. We've been acquainted now, so please, just Mildred would do." She struggled to fit the sock over his foot. They were rugged, she supposed from wearing riding boots almost year round. Her feet looked similar after years of abuse. Still, they didn't look grody, like the patients that came to the doctor's office.

"I would prefer Miss Callahan, until we're more intimately acquainted."

"And what would you prefer? Major Stewart? Mr. Stewart? I only used your given name earlier to get your attention. I was frightened that you were…" Her voice trailed off. Usually, he would have preferred his title being in use, remembering as a child there was an uncle that was only called 'Colonel' by the family.

Mildred noticed that he seemed to be a bit stuck on what to allow her to call him. "I'll just stick with Major Stewart for now then, shall I?" He nodded his answer, as she slipped the second sock on the opposite foot. He settled himself amongst the pillows again and dozed.

Mildred knew that she should be dead tired by now, but she wasn't. Her mind was active, with the day's events. _Some New Years, _she thought. _I wished for change. Need to be more careful about those wishes I guess. _

She didn't know what she would do when Cayleen returned. How she would explain this man's presence, especially when he didn't seem too keen on the idea of courtship.

Thirty minutes later, she woke Jamie up and checked his temperature. Back down to a reasonable 38 Celsius. She removed the rags and socks, coached more tea down his throat, and left him alone.

At daybreak, Doctor McGregor arrived at Mildred's home.

"And how is our patient today?" He asked, as he waddled through the door, leaving his coat and hat on a rack nearby.

"Much better," Mildred yawned. "A healthy 38 Celsius."

"You didn't need the Yarrow tea bath?"

"No." _Thank goodness, _she added silently.

"Go and catch a few hours sleep then, before chores. I'll look after him once again." Mildred didn't attempt to argue. She trudged back to her own room, shucked her clothing, and collapsed into bed.

X

George prepared a breakfast of porridge and tea for his off the book patient.

"Need something that will stick to those ribs," he chuckled. Jamie was sitting on the edge of the bed, glancing around the room. "You look as if you could use a good meal."

"Yes, the rations were just enough to keep us alive," Jamie told him as the elderly doctor sat down in the chair Mildred had used all night. "The horses ate better." His coloring was much improved, though there was still a touch of fever about his features.

"My mother used to tell me there was nothing that a good meal of porridge couldn't fix." It was important to get something into the officer's stomach or he would be sicker than before.

Jamie couldn't recall the last time he had eaten. He supposed, with a quick calculation, it must have been over eighty years ago. His stomach gave an unexpected rumble.

"There you go, not too many at once. That's it lad." Slowly, Jamie scooped a bite out at a time. "Not too much wrong with you now I'd wager." George wondered if something about the journey here had helped the man's condition. He had not expected the fever to depart so easily.

"And while you eat, and that poor girl in the next room sleeps, let me update you on the nearly eighty years of history that have happened."

X

Mildred woke, taking a few minutes to collect her bearings.

Major Stewart.

Topthorn.

McGregor.

Hastily climbing out of bed and pulling on fresh clothes, Mildred ran down the hall to the spare bedroom to find that Jamie was listening to George's history lesson. She slid to a halt against the doorframe, her socks taking no traction on the hard floor.

"You are quite well then Major Stewart?" Mildred asked.

"Yes, thank you for inquiring Miss Callahan," he nodded. "Doctor McGregor has been attempting to explain how the world has changed."

"Quite a bit I'm afraid," she smiled grimly.

"Yes, it all seems quite confusing," Jamie agreed.

"Perhaps you should lie down, have a little more rest."

"A suggestion I am willing to follow," he said, climbing back underneath the heavy covers.

"Mildred, there is porridge on the stove." She thanked the doctor, grabbed a quick bowl and prepared to head outside. Thank goodness, it had not snowed again that night.

The horses seemed quite happy to see her, and as Mildred glanced at the barn clock, she could see why. It was over an hour later than when she usually fed and groomed them.

Her body seemed stuck on autopilot as she cleaned, scooped, and brushed. Jamie – Major Stewart, as he wished to be known by, was from a simpler era. He was just like the gentlemen that she read about in books of old. How he only wanted to call her by her surname, seemed scandalized by her lack of escort, and her manner of dressing.

_A bit like having Mr. Darcy in my house I suppose. Though he does seem a tad nicer? _

Melon nipped at her hand when she brushed him a bit hard on the neck. "Sorry old fella, I was just off with the fairies I suppose." She took Melon first on a quick jog around the pasture through the snow-covered areas they had already tamped down. Ginny and Billy seemed more hesitant.

It didn't seem right, to take Topthorn out without his master, especially when she didn't know the particulars involved with handling him.

"Your master will be well enough soon to take you for a ride," she said softly, stroking the end of his nose.

When Mildred finally returned to the house, Jamie was once again asleep and McGregor was busy searching through a history textbook of Cayleen's for events since 1915 to catch Jamie up.

"Come on into my kitchen. I'll prepare a spot of lunch."

"How are the horses?" McGregor asked as he sat down at the kitchen table.

"Fine, though a bit agitated that I wasn't paying my full attention to them."

"Attraction has a way of doing that."

"Attraction? Already pealing my wedding bells?" she teased.

"I know attraction when I see it Mildred. You fancy him and he seems to fancy you."

"All from this one day, most of which he has slept through?" she laughed. "Are you sure what you're reading as attraction isn't curiosity, since we're in the future?"

"Yes, he has a particular spark in his eye I remember from my courtship days." Mildred laughed but her insides twisted. No matter how much she wanted to be attracted to him, it was like playing with fire. He was from the past after all and there were a million possibilities to keep them apart.

Over lunch, Mildred and McGregor chatted idly about the latest news around the village, like the new barn the Smiths were planning for springtime, Ivy Jones' latest art accomplishment, the new collection at the library.

"So what should I do tonight?"

"Let him rest. Tend the horses. Keep him quiet. It's very important that he receives plenty of rest and liquid. We don't want a relapse after all our hard work."

"And work tomorrow?"

"Stay home. Tend to the Major here. I'll handle Patel." McGregor left instructions on what to feed Jamie for the first twenty-four hours. "He will not be used to such rich foods. We'll have to ease him into them gradually. For now, soft, easily digestible nourishing things."

With McGregor's supervision, Jamie was given the leftover porridge and a soft biscuit for lunch then given a quick tour of the cottage and facilities before the doctor left.

"Shall I read to you?" Mildred asked. "Continue the history lesson? I think Doctor McGregor might have made it to the 1970s. Or would you prefer to read yourself?" McGregor had not given her instructions to sit with him all night again.

"That would be most satisfactory Miss Callahan." They paused only for a light supper before Mildred resumed the book. She managed to make it through one decade before Jamie's eyes began closing. Her voice was soft, much like the ideal woman's of his time. His mother used to read to his father in a similar voice, when Jamie was just a boy.

"I will pause here then," she told him, marking the page with a handmade bookmark of pressed flowers. "Will you be alright in here for the night?" He nodded, his head already leaning against the pillows again. "I'll be just in the next room should you need me." They exchanged quick goodnights and Mildred departed for the sitting room.

She spread out on the couch, so that she could hear Jamie, should he require her during the night. She wasn't quite tired and did not feel like crocheting another line in her project. Instead, she curled up with a book on Victorian customs that had belonged to her Gran, and probably her Gran's mother before that, to try and better understand the world that the Major had been raised in for starters.

X


	6. Chapter 5

**Author's Note: **Thank you so much for all the reviews / favs/ alerts on this story. I really appreciate them!

Also, thank you to the guest that is reading the story, despite their dislike of the name Mildred. Would you consider a nickname like Millie a minor, bearable improvement in future chapters?

Otherwise, please let me know kindly if anything else is amiss, so that I might adjust it.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own. No money is made from this. Etc. etc.

* * *

Worlds Collide

Chapter Five

Jai Patel hurried past the secretary's desk, wondering where she might be. It was nine o' clock, the office was open, and she was nowhere to be found.

Jai was the village's newest resident, and one of the few residents under 40. He had known the practice was small when he arrived.

There had been plans, things he had talked himself into believing to make the job more attractive, like leaving on the weekend for a bigger town, or using the quaint atmosphere to work on his articles and research.

But things rarely seemed to go as he planned. There always seemed to be work. As if he couldn't shut himself off at night.

"Will you be looking at this spot on my leg or not?" the elderly patient was demanding. Two feet of snow did not slow the patients down in the least, so where was Miss Callahan today?

"Yes, Mr. Brown, follow me." He led the patient to one of only two examine rooms, assured him of his returning, and went in search of McGregor.

Jai found George, unwrapping his scarf from around his thick neck before setting down his briefcase.

"Where is Miss Callahan today?"

"Oh dear, I seem to have forgotten to inform you over the holiday. She is attending to a special patient for me the next few days."

"Which patient? I had not heard anyone was ill."

"A err, cousin of mine, who has come to visit. I'm afraid he's fallen ill." Jai was sure that George was lying, but he didn't know why yet. He warned himself not to ask too many questions so quickly, people tended to feel as if they were being interviewed or interrogated.

"Oh?"

"Yes, fever and all that. I'll mind the desk when she's not here and I'm not on call." George wandered off towards the front before Jai could ask anymore.

He sighed and headed for his waiting patient. Something had happened over the holiday, he just wasn't sure what yet.

X

Mildred awoke from the strangest dream, feeling the need to look through her Gran's photo albums again. There was something nagging at her, something important.

"Good morning Miss Callahan," Jamie said, from one of the armchairs in the living room. Thankfully, she had fallen asleep in her clothing, book resting on her chest where she had been reading. Any recollection of the dream vanished in the next instant, as Jamie greeted her.

"Oh Major Stewart," she smiled, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from her face, "good morning. Did you rest well?" He had lost most of the haunted, fevered look.

"Yes, much better. Thank you. And you Miss Callahan?" He was holding one of the photo albums from her coffee table. Her right shoulder and neck were sore from sleeping at an odd angle, but she wasn't about to mention that to him.

"Oh, lovely. Thank you." This was quite a change, compared to either the snores that issued from Cayleen and Dave's room or the random arguments with her sister over who would be preparing breakfast. It was quite nice, having someone who at least had good form to ask after her health, even if it might have only been ingrained formalities.

"I apologize for invading your personal items," he said, gesturing to the photo album in his lap, "but the book did not hold my concentration and I was weary of the bed I'm afraid."

"That's perfectly fine." She stood up, feeling a little stiff, and walked over to the armchair, looking over his shoulder. "Who are you looking at?" Jamie gestured to a family portrait from the 1800s. "Oh, that's my Gran, as a girl, her brothers, and her mother and father."

"There is a strong family resemblance."

"Is that good or bad?" she chuckled. His piercing eyes took a quick appraisal of her face in profile.

"Neither really, Miss Callahan. I simply mean that you all share similar facial features and I would be able to detect your relation, had you not so graciously informed me." Not quite the answer she was expecting, neutral, where Cayleen had insisted on a number of occasions when the prospect of marriage or suitors cropped up, that Mildred was 'an outdated sort of beautiful.' "However, you all seem to possess striking noses."

"Striking hm? As in, big?" she teased.

"Not at all. A petite nose fit for a petite face." Mildred did not agonize over her nose the way the girls at boarding school had, her roommate in particular. A nose was a nose. Hers was a bit like a ski jump, but not too wide or too tall; cute and a source of easy amusement in boring classes as a child where she would pretend it was a ski jump and the rider was falling to his or her doom.

Gran always said that Cayleen had inherited the traits of the other side of the family, for her nose looked different from Mildred's, something Cayleen whined about at least twice a month.

"Thank you, I think." He nodded and turned another, heavy page. There was a photo of her Gran as a young woman. It was one of Mildred's favorites, because her Gran was beautiful and because the younger version of her Gran could almost be her twin.

In fact, for fun, her Gran had insisted in dressing Mildred up for a gimmicky photo to put in the album beside it, to play a trick on anyone who browsed the album. The effect was more chilling than fun. Mildred did resemble her Gran quite a lot.

"Then, this is your photograph?"

"Yes. Her idea."

"You could be her twin." She nodded.

"Almost. Are you hungry?"

"Famished."

"That's a good sign, I suppose. Let me change into something fresh and then I'll whip something up." Jamie continued browsing through photographs as Mildred ducked into her room to change. She would need to do some washing today.

Jamie liked seeing the now vintage photographs of her family and the progression of Mildred's photos into an adult. How she had gone from an awkward girl to a scintillating woman. It was interesting to see how the fashions and hairstyles changed in that length of time.

Time was a tricky mistress, wasn't she?

It was interesting to see the progression of Mildred's grandmother over time. Time did not seem to ravage her the way it did even women in his time.

Jamie took careful notice that Mildred's parents did not appear at all in the photo album. No wedding photos-which were as big as an occasion as anything, no childhood photos, no funeral photos. In fact, there seemed to be no mention of parents at all.

He hated to broach the subject with Mildred, but he was afraid it had gotten the better of his curiosity.

"Miss Callahan?"

"Yes?" She emerged from her bedroom, pulling a thick gray sweater over her head, tumbling her hair over her shoulders. Jamie watched, momentarily distracted by the action.

"I do hate to ask, but my curiosity is piqued beyond the normal sensitivity in this area. I could not help but notice as I flipped through your family history, but there is no mention of your parents." He almost expected her face to darken and her demeanor become closed off from his intrusion into her personal affairs.

Instead, she smiled again, taking the closed photo album from him and replacing it on the shelf. "That's because, I too appeared in my Gran's tack closet."

Jamie glanced at her face, to see if she was only jesting. For the most part, she seemed to be. But there was a sadness around her eyes that she probably wasn't aware of.

"Honestly?"

"No," she laughed, helping him from the chair. He could smell the faintest scent of lavender clinging to her hair, as he leaned against her for momentary support. While he was feeling much improved, brief dizzy spells lingered when he stood. His long fingers wrapped around her shoulder for support. "I actually have no idea what happened to my parents."

"No idea?" That just didn't seem possible. Jamie was quite close to his own parents when he was in his own time. They knew nearly every aspect of his life, to a certain degree.

"Well don't sound so dour about it. How can you long for something you never experienced?" She led him to her bright kitchen, helping him to sit at the table this time. Jamie hated to ignore Mildred's lack of chaperonage, something that had changed since his time, to which he was going to have to adjust. Young ladies in his day did not just go around unsupervised by someone older and married.

"Gran never told me much about my parents. Only that they died when I was a babe. My older sister, Cayleen, hardly remembers them either." For as long as Mildred could remember, it was just her, Cayleen, and her Gran, until she was old enough to go to boarding school, something left over from her parent's will supposedly.

"I am very sorry Miss Callahan," Jamie told her quietly, watching her bustle around the kitchen.

She waved him off. "There's no need to be. It's just a part of life. Besides Gran raised me about as well as anyone." Mildred began preparing a breakfast suitable to Doctor McGregor's standards. "But, enough about me. Might I inquire about your family?"

"I suppose it would be acceptable. I am the oldest son of my parents, Mr. and Mrs. Charles Stewart. My brothers, Edmund and Gideon."

"Younger or older?"

"Younger."

"No sisters I take it?"

"None. Mother always wanted girls."

"Were you close with your brothers? Or were the three of you separate people entirely?" Jamie was silent a few minutes and Mildred was afraid she had breached some etiquette rule.

"I am a good deal older than my brothers." It did not escape Mildred's notice that he still sometimes referred to them in the present, as if he could go and see them now. "As I was entering the service, they were just becoming young gentlemen."

"We could do some research, in the library when you are much improved. Find out what happened to your family."

"Yes, I would appreciate that, very much Miss Callahan." She could tell that Jamie was in danger of becoming morose, so she changed the subject quickly, steering away from family for the time being.

"There are so many things you'll have to see when we're not buried under snow and you're no longer in danger of repeat illness. The village doesn't have as much as London, but it's got enough."

"I should like to see one of these moving pictures, films, Doctor McGregor mentioned last afternoon."

"Oh yes, we must go to the movie theater sometime, which is much more exciting than watching them in the home."

As she cooked, she began chattering about various locations around the village that would be fun once winter was over or about things that had probably changed since his time. Mildred did not allow for one overly dour moment or uncomfortable breaks in conversation, keeping up a steady stream of lighthearted topics.

Jamie wasn't always sure what she was referring to, but he enjoyed hearing her anyway. She was much like the ladies he was used to, well versed in the pleasantries of conversation, being sure to steer away from politics or religion.

Mildred was initially afraid that she was talking too much, as her mouth sometimes tended to get away from her when her nerves got in the way. However, he seemed actively interested in anything she had to say over their hot breakfast.

After breakfast was cleared away, Mildred made sure Jamie was comfortable in her living room with a book before she disappeared outside to care for the horses.

X

When she returned, Jamie was napping on her couch, his long limbs spread out in repose. One of his long, slender arms was thrown carelessly across his face, the other resting on his chest. She could get used to seeing that every day.

Deciding to leave him be for a little while, Mildred grabbed a novel and settled into an armchair. Just as she had settled down, the phone rang. Mildred glanced quickly at Jamie's face. He grunted but didn't rise.

She ran for the phone in the kitchen, answering it just before it rang again.

"Yes?"

"Mildred?"

"Oh, Cayleen."

"You sound breathless. Throwing a party?"

"No, I was just…uh…" Her heart was pounding. "Reading."

"Something erotic?"

"No, no." Cayleen laughed, high and girlish.

"Yes, you're practically Gran, Mildred. I suppose you were reading about horses again."

"Cayleen, why are you calling again?"

"Oh, right. Just wanted to check on my little sister in the New Year."

"I'm good," she said a little too quickly, hoping her sister didn't notice. "Very good."

"Very good huh? Are you harboring a secret love interest there?" Mildred knew that Cayleen was only joking, but she had pretty much hit the nail on the head.

"Yes Cayleen," she told her sister, in what was hopefully a very sarcastic voice.

"As long as you're having fun." She could almost picture her sister's famous spicy wink.

"Yeah, trust me." Cayleen chatted a few more minutes about her and Dave's visit.

"Oh, we're house hunting, while we're here."

"House hunting?"

"Yes. Dave and I have been talking it over, and we need our own home." Mildred silently agreed. She was tired of their obnoxious bedroom antics. "We'll be gone a little longer than expected."

"Oh, that's alright. Don't rush home on my account." The girls exchanged goodbyes and Mildred stood by her phone a few minutes. Just as she headed for the living room, the phone rang again. "Popular today."

She answered, more affably this time.

"Ah Mildred, how is the patient today?"

"He's much improved."

"That's good, my dear. Eating?"

"Yes."

"Resting?"

"Presently. How is the office?"

There was a hesitation. "Patel was suspicious."

"That's to be expected. I should be able to come back Wednesday I think."

"We shall see. Just be sure he rests plenty, keeps, the fever down, and stays hydrated. Oh and be sure that he cleans up. He'll feel better if he does."

"I will," she assured him. They also exchanged goodbyes and this time Mildred walked away from the phone, as if standing beside it encouraged it to ring continuously.

Jamie was yawning and sitting up, looking bedraggled and slightly devil-may-care. A lock of his light russet colored hair had fallen over his forehead. Mildred chewed on her bottom lip, trying to think of a tactful way to tell him he needed to bath.

"Ah, Major Stewart."

"Miss Callahan. How are the horses?"

"Happy."

"Excellent." He began limbering up, stretching one long arm and then the other.

"Major. I was just speaking with the doctor and he suggested a bath, as part of your treatment." Mildred watched Jamie's sharp cheekbones flush with color.

"Miss Callahan, it would be most-"

"Oh no, I wouldn't be bathing you. I probably wouldn't even see anything-" She caught herself mid-sentence and amended "wouldn't see anything at all." He looked understandably wary. "No one's virtue would be compromised. Come with me. I'll show you how to operate it."

She led him down the hall to the facilities, in which Doctor McGregor had given a brief tutorial on the day before. In the cramped space, the tall man was leaning over her and observing how she twisted the shower handle to make the water rush out at the desirable temperature.

She loved the simple delight on his face with even the most common modern convenience. He had seemed fascinated by the kitchen earlier, even going so far as to ask why she didn't have any domestic help – maids or cooks. Mildred had briefly explained that the nature of domestic help had changed and that for a house this size, she could maintain it.

"Just wait here. I'll find you some fresh clothes. Towels are just there. Soap." She grabbed a fresh bar of Yardley's from beneath her sink, flavored with lavender. "Uh, shampoo, you know, soap for your hair." She pointed to a bottle of the generic sort. It never seemed to matter what kind she tried on her hair. Her curls remained firmly resistant to any sort of attempt to smooth them.

"Miss Callahan, do you have any sort of shaving materials?" By now, he had the makings of a good beard.

"Oh, I nearly forgot. Thank you. Dave, my sister's husband, has razors and shaving cream somewhere around here." She opened the door on her mirror, where Dave's can of shaving cream and disposable razors were located. Mildred took one of Jamie's hands, to show him how to operate the aerosol can, because she wasn't quite sure if he would be familiar with them or not.

"You press this button here," she told him, wrapping his hand around the can, leaving his index finger to depress the white button on the top. He jumped a little, as the foam spurted into Mildred's hand. "And the cream comes out. Just use your fingertips to apply now." She gently spread the small amount over a bit of his jaw stubble.

"No brush?"

"No. Just fingers." She rinsed her hands in the sink and drew a razor from the package. "And these are the razors. Not quite what you're used to, I know. But similar." With firm pressure, Mildred drew the razor over the patch of course hair.

"I understand." His posture was quite stiff and Mildred realized she had practically invaded his personal space. Too intimate, too soon. He cleared his throat. Mildred was practically leaning against his chest to reach his face. She jumped back quickly, her back rubbing the edge of the counter.

"Er, right. I'll be fetching those clothes now." She handed him the razor. Jamie's cheeks flushed with color at having had her initiate such an intimate action. She was only trying to instruct him in the ways of the future, but he could feel the stirrings of something, unfurling in the pit of his stomach.

Mildred's face burned as red as her hair as she grabbed a fresh set of Dave's old clothes. They were some from his Uni days, and he was more corpulent now. He would never miss them. She would have to remember that Jamie wasn't used to such intimate contact, romantic or not.

When she returned, the door was firmly closed. "Major Stewart?" she asked, knocking.

"Yes?"

"I have some clothes for you." He opened the door just enough to receive them, before shutting it tightly. "I'll just go prepare some lunch then, shall I? Call if you have need of me."

X

Mildred was just setting their plates on the table when Jamie finally emerged. His hair was still damp on the ends, but he had made an effort to comb it over.

His face was stubble free and his moustache was neatly trimmed, emphasizing his fine facial structure once more. Dave's blue button down and khaki slacks seemed to fit Jamie well enough, though a little short at the cuffs.

"Doctor McGregor was correct. I feel quite refreshed."

"I'm glad," Mildred nodded, trying to reel her jaw in. Goodness, if she had thought him handsome before, she would have to think of an entirely new word to describe him now.

"I seem to have worked up an appetite," he told her, sitting down at the table. He smiled briefly, the skin around his eyes crinkling slightly. She liked his smile and hoped she would see more it.

"Excellent. Tuck in then?"

X

The afternoon passed pleasantly, Jamie with a book and Mildred taking care of household chores.

"Do you require some additional assistance?" Jamie asked, a little unhappy with merely sitting and 'resting' for hours.

"No, no, not all. You just rest and I'll return momentarily," she told him. "I have a special treat after supper for you."

Mildred tended to the horses again and prepared dinner once more, with Jamie hovering around asking how various things worked, despite her protests for him to remain rested.

"If you're up to it, I have some motion pictures here."

"In your home?" he asked, incredulously.

"Yes, the technology now allows them to be shown in the home." She turned her telly on, and Jamie watched the blue screen, fascinated. He had moved quite close to the screen as she tried to find a movie she thought he might enjoy. "Don't sit so close," she teased, "might ruin your eyesight."

Jamie moved back to the couch quickly, sitting rigid among the cushions, as if the screen might explode.

"I was only joking," Mildred told him, regretting saying it in the first place. She smiled, hoping he would get the idea.

"What a cruel joke Miss Callahan." There was a weak smile on his face, probably just to humor her. Jamie did relax a few seconds later, once Mildred slipped in a copy of _Black Beauty, _something he would probably be familiar with, probably in print.

She spent more time watching Jamie's reactions to the movie, than the actual movie itself. She knew it well enough to quote along anyway.

"I read this book, as a boy," he told her at some point. "I just never imagined…"

Mildred had a difficult time convincing Jamie he needed to rest, when he really wanted to watch another.

"There will be plenty of time for more films tomorrow," she told him. He was yawning, despite himself.

"If you insist Miss Callahan."

"I do. Doctor McGregor will have my head otherwise." They exchanged good nights and headed off to separate rooms. Mildred replayed the day's events over in her mind until she finally drifted off to sleep.

X


	7. Chapter 6

**Author's Note: **Thank you so much for all the reviews/alerts/favs on this story so far! You guys rock!

So sorry it has taken me a while to update this one. Had some free time this week thanks to stepping on goodness knows what in my yard while working in my garden, and thus puncturing my foot. Not too painful, just difficult to walk on. Thankfully my shoe took a great deal of the damage : )

Her future nickname will be Millie : ) And there will be some overlap with James and Ivy from 'Strangeness and Charm' eventually.

**Disclaimer: **Don't own.

* * *

Worlds Collide

Chapter 6

For two more days, Mildred camped out in her home with Jamie, watching movies, and insisting he rest.

"Please do not trouble yourself too much on my account, Miss Callahan," he finally told her, with a smile. "I am not glass. I will not break."

Mildred had to laugh any time that she powered up the television. Jamie was still a little timid around it, but that usually outweighed his excitement over whichever movie they watched. They exhausted her collection.

"I suppose I'll be stopping by the store after work tomorrow," she said, eying the stack of them from New Years that still needed to be returned.

Doctor McGregor had called at least once each day to check on Jamie's progress.

"No more fever, no other symptoms. He's been as healthy as a horse," Mildred explained.

"Plenty of rest?"

"More than he can stand actually. I think he might be developing a touch of cabin fever actually."

McGregor chuckled. "Alright. Would you feel ethical about leaving him long enough to return to work, Thursday and Friday?"

"I should think so. Just a few hours, right? Otherwise, I might drive him mad."

"Right. And I could look in on him, during my lunch."

"That would be most appreciated." She had shown Jamie how to use some of the appliances to make simple meals, rather than having him burn up her toaster trying to fry a sandwich, as Dave had once done. "And do you have any extra movies?"

"A few."

"Could you bring those? At least until I can go rent a few more?"

"Yes, of course."

"Brilliant, thank you." Doctor McGregor filled her in on anything important she might have missed during the day, which was hardly anything at all.

"I'll also bring by some old clothes that the Major might be more comfortable in. Some were my father's, that have been well cared for, and some were mine. Plenty of room for alterations. I'm sure he's tired of Dave's."

"I'm tired of Dave's. They don't fit for the most part. But are you sure?"

"I would rather someone wear his clothes than for them to be packed away, rotting. Especially a young man like Major Stewart."

"I appreciate it, Doctor McGregor, really. You have no idea." A man like Jamie had no business in stained sweat pants and pub t-shirts, which was what she was down to this week. Mildred had stored his uniform until such time as she could have it dry cleaned, because her washer tended to play Russian roulette with her clothing from time to time.

That afternoon, Jamie requested to go and see his horse.

"It has been long enough," he explained. "I have encountered worse conditions." From the bit of reading Mildred had completed in the afternoons and evenings, when Jamie was occupied or sleeping, she had researched a little on the war. She couldn't argue with him.

"Alright. But at least let me bundle you up." Jamie rolled his eyes, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He slid into Dave's old coat as Mildred dug around in a basket by the door where she kept an odd assortment of gloves and scarves she had found or made.

"Agreed," Jamie confirmed.

Her latest crochet project was an emerald-hued scarf for Jamie. She was half way through, working the stitches by feel as they watched movies at night. Every spring she sold her winter efforts at the village's festival, usually with much success. Mildred had offered to teach Jamie, when she caught him watching her hands, but he had declined.

She pulled a lime green knitted glove out of the bottom, searching for a mate. They were some she had found for Dave, as a Christmas present, that he had worn only once and then discarded. She held it the length of Jamie's hand, deciding that it should fit him. The mate seemed to be missing, so she found a red one that was similar in size.

She wrapped a russet colored scarf around his neck, to hide the sensitive skin there from the biting cold. "There," she told him, tying it gently, "satisfied." He was eyeing the gloves with hesitation. Mildred found two equally strange gloves in the box as well, in hopes that Jamie would not feel so self-conscious.

The path between Mildred's barn and the cottage was well worn now, the snow all mushy brown and grey from her daily path. He held onto her as they made their way down the steps, so neither would slip and fall.

"You have marvelous grounds," Jamie commented as they strolled down the path, his eyes searching the horizon line.

"Why, thank you. My gran was quite proud of them. Said there was nowhere else she would rather live. I can hardly blame her. This has been my home for over twenty years, every summer until I finished with my education."

"Ancestral?"

"Hardly. My gran bought it with my grandfather when she was a younger woman. I know every crack in the floorboard, every corner, every curiosity." There was a certain pride in her voice that touched Jamie.

"Would you ever leave?" Mildred grew quiet enough that Jamie thought he must have offended her. "I did not me-"

"Things change," she told him. "If circumstances dictated it, perhaps. But I would want to leave it to someone who would appreciate its eccentricities. Who would not care that the floorboard in front of my door creaks for no reason in the dead of night. Or that the windows sometimes stick on hot summer days. Or even the roaring noise the shower makes when it is first started." She paused again. "And they would of course have to love horses."

"But of course." She let go of Jamie's arm to open the barn door. The horses and Billy greeted them, Melon being the first to throw his head over the door and beg. At the end of the stables, Topthorn whinnied and tossed his head, recognizing his master.

Jamie's eyes widened and he headed for his best and most reliable friend. Topthorn was closer to him than his own family. Mildred turned her attention to greedy Melon, who was poking his head over the stall door, giving Jamie and his horse a private moment.

"How soon will I be able to ride again?" Jamie asked finally. Mildred had hoped he wouldn't.

"I'll speak to Doctor McGregor about riding soon enough," Mildred told him. "Just to be certain."

"Thank you." The afternoon was spent quietly brushing their respective horses. Mildred couldn't help but steal glances of Jamie slowly untangling small knots from Topthorn's mane or stroking the end of his muzzle when he thought no one was watching.

X

Wednesday, Mildred finally returned to work. For once, she was thankful for the lack of constant office activity as it provided her with more time to wonder how Jamie was faring at home alone. Jai Patel was hovering more than usual, Mildred supposed because of her uncharacteristic absence.

"Miss Callahan," he addressed her, interrupting her daymare about Jamie forgetting the use of one of the appliances and sending her cottage up in flames.

"Er yes? What did you need?"

"Doctor McGregor's cousin, is he well?"

"Oh yes, just dandy." She hoped Jamie was. Doctor McGregor promised to call on him around lunch, to see how he was faring. Mildred had provided him with enough entertainment to keep him indoors until she returned. Jai's mouth opened and closed a few more times, as if he were going to inquire more.

Beside Mildred, the phone rang suddenly. Forgetting herself, she answered quickly with "yes?"

"Miss Callahan?" came a loud voice. Jamie. She thought he knew the basics of using the phone. She had been over it with him. Must still have been getting used to it.

"Oh, Major Stewart. Is everything alright? Nothing is on fire?"

"No. Doctor McGregor insisted I call you with an update." She smiled and tried not to glance at Jai's face, for fear he was eagerly listening in.

"Oh, alright. You are alright then?"

"Yes. I have been reading one of your books."

"That's fine. Just fine." They chatted a few more minutes and hung up.

"Is he hard of hearing?" Jai asked with a wry smile, as he glanced over a patient's file. Mildred wondered how she would talk herself out of this one. She could say 'yes' but then if Jai and Jamie ever met, the perceptive doctor would realize that hearing was the least of the Major's problems.

"Oh no. He's just…"

"Just what?"

"My telephone is having some difficulty." The doctor nodded, but Mildred got the idea he didn't believe her. Luckily, his one o'clock appointment had arrived, cane and all, so that Mildred was spared from further inquiry.

X

The house was too quiet for Jamie's tastes. At war, men, horses, and noise had constantly surrounded him. At home, he had his mother, father, and brothers.

He missed Mildred, even if they were rather quiet during the day. Her presence was comforting in this busy era. The attic creaked suddenly, disturbing his thoughts. Jamie set the novel he had been previously been reading down on the nearby armrest.

There was a knock at the door and Jamie rolled off the side of the couch, venturing into the kitchen to see who might be visiting.

"Are you decent?" Doctor McGregor asked in a jovial voice through the kitchen door.

"Yes, of course." Mildred had made sure to leave him a clean outfit, one provided by Doctor McGregor, for the day. Jamie much preferred the rough wool to the 'sweatpants' as she had called them. He pulled open the door to permit the doctor entry. "How are you faring Doctor?"

"A bit too nippy outside. I'll be glad for the spring and my late wife's roses." He hung up his coat and scarf on the pegs by the door, and then withdrew a bag of sandwiches from one of the inner pockets. "Now, Mildred would have you eat something fit for the sparrows, but I never found any harm in a slice of good turkey. What say you?"

"That sounds agreeable," Jamie acknowledged as he and the doctor sat down at the little table. The company of the doctor temporarily alleviated Jamie's loneliness until after lunch, when the doctor had left to continue on his rounds. Even hearing Mildred's gentle voice over the phone wasn't quite the same.

He really wished to venture outside and check on his horse, but did not think the idea wise, especially should something happen to him. Instead, he paced around inside for a while, wandering through rooms.

The temptation just to enter her bedroom was overwhelming. She was away at work and would probably never know. But he would and that's what kept his feet firmly on the right side of the threshold.

Instead, Jamie settled for just staring inside, observing her hastily made bed, her small desk in front of the window, and her open closet full of bright clothing. He could see the pictures on the wall, of her grandmother, of what he supposed were good friends, and of course her horses.

There was a painting hanging beside her desk, signed I. Jones, of the local landscape rendered in warm colors. The attic creaked again, startling him. While Jamie didn't give into foolish superstitions as his mother and her friends had done, he also knew better than to laugh at forces he did not understand.

"Alright," he said to no one in particular, "I'll venture back out to the sitting room." He resumed the novel until he heard an automobile approaching, a sound he still found unfamiliar. Automobiles in his day and automobiles now were quite different.

He heard the door slam and a few seconds later, Mildred's voice.

"Major Stewart?"

"Yes?" He strode into the kitchen, finding her stripping off her coat and mittens. "Anything I can assist you with?" A long day of sitting and resting was beginning to wear on his nerves.

"Oh, dinner, I suppose," she smiled. "You weren't missing me were you?" she asked, smiling and placing her hands on her hips. Jamie's attention was momentarily caught by the length of her skirt, her visible stockings pulled over lightly muscled calves.

"I missed your company today Miss Callahan. Your home seems to creak more when you are away," he pointed out quickly.

"Gran used to say something similar when I would visit from school. The house just misses me I suppose." Indeed, the house had ceased its creaking as soon as she stepped over the threshold. "Just let me change out of these work clothes and we'll start."

Jamie waited in the kitchen, listening to Mildred's muffled voice as she related some story about what happened to her at work, and then catching the second half as she reappeared dressed in long trousers and a loose shirt.

She kept up her merry chatter as she delegated him tasks to do, while they prepared a dish for supper. Jamie partially listened and provided input every so often, but mostly he observed Mildred.

He thought she might not have noticed until she said, "My old home didn't frighten you did it?"

"Of course not."

"Are you certain?" She was teasing him, Jamie could tell by the smirk on her face.

"Yes. I have seen and heard far worse things in war. Your home is no competition." She nudged him with her elbow.

"Alright, if you're certain. I was under the impression you missed me considerably."

"The cottage did seem a bit empty today," Jamie finally consented.

"Well, if you are fully recovered in the morning, then perhaps tomorrow you can spend some of the day in the stable."

"I would be of more use to you there. I am afraid I know nothing about keeping a home clean."

"That's alright. Neither do I," she grinned. Supper was quick, so they could spend more time in the stables with the horses before darkness set in.

Once in the barn, she showed him to the tack room, of which he only had brief flashes of memory.

"Actually, if you want something to do during the day for a few hours, the tack room does need a bit of sorting." There were years of collected tack lining the walls and covering many available surfaces. "Cleaning, that sort of thing. If you intend to ride Topthorn soon, you'll need to fine one of my grandfather's old saddles I suppose."

A challenge.

"I would be happy to Miss Callahan."

"Alright. I'll check with Doctor McGregor first. But I don't see any reason you couldn't be out here for a few hours each day, at least at first. I am sure he brought by some of his famous turkey sandwiches and didn't think I knew about them?"

"Perhaps," Jamie said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Then he must think you are much improved," she smiled. "Tomorrow you start, for just a few hours." Jamie willingly agreed and the two of them had a nice night in, watching more films borrowed from Doctor McGregor.

X


End file.
